


Jennifer's Body

by TheAudity



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Linear Narrative, Other, Referenced Queliot, The Monster Deserved a Full Character Arc, Unfortunately This is Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAudity/pseuds/TheAudity
Summary: They had been in a forest like this before.Alternatively, a character study on The Monster, Their relationship with the body, and an undeniable craving for Starbucks.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater & The Monster, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: The Magicians Harvest Spectacular





	Jennifer's Body

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, thank you so much for stopping by to read this! A few notes beforehand;
> 
> This is my first foray into non-linear storytelling. I hope everything translates well, and that the timeline makes sense to everyone here, but it is an art I'm still learning. Also, this is a character study on the Monster of Blackspire, so, expect canon-typical violence and gore. This story is more focused on muscle memory and senses than violence, so I don't think any of it is too extreme, but it does exist.
> 
> There is also an instance of non-consensual touching in this fic. Nothing that goes far, but if you're concerned that this might be an issue for you, please see the end notes for more details about this instance, and where it takes place so you can skip it.
> 
> Thank you to Rubbick, for being a great friend and cheerleader, and for beta-reading this fic. I've been sitting on it for a month now so I'm really happy to finally have it up. Also, thank you PanBoleyn for allowing your Starbucks order to become a part of this story.
> 
> Update: GUYS HOLY SHIT THIS STORY HAS ART NOW!!!! The first illustration in here was done by the SPECTACULAR AmbigiousPenny, and the second illustration was by The ONE AND ONLY FishyDwarrows and I am sCReAmINg!!!!! That is all, go follow them if you aren't already, holy shit T_T

\--x--

They had been in a forest like this before. Long ago, in the Time Before. All there had been was Themself and Sister, entwined within the cosmic fabric of the universe, unstoppable and untouched by tragedy. They had been free forces, exploring every pocket and corner of the universe, taking it apart to see how it ticked. Then their parents had told them they were _‘too destructive’, ‘too careless’,_ and had forced them into mortal shells. Still, Sister hadn’t let them weaken her, and they had continued much the same. Still, their parents were harsh, and the Old Gods had let lesser Gods kill her. 

Once, the body had also called a place so like this one...home. Only, it wasn’t this body, and it hadn’t happened. 

The forest was fuzzy, like the body after They took the pills that made Quentin so angry. Only, They had stopped taking the pills. At least, They had stopped when anyone was looking, but they had been too busy to take any for a while. Because Sister was finally back, trapped in flesh like Them, but _with_ Them. She kept Them too busy for Them to take any more. It made sense- they had much to do- revenge, killing their parents, all the things she had waited for. 

They had been in a forest like this before. They had been happy here. There was a stream, just on the other side of the hill. Quentin was there, but he would be back soon. He always came back, and the body was happy, and- the _body_ was happy. That wasn’t _Them_.

They had been...happy, in the Time Before. Sister was there, and she was strong, and she let no one touch Them. She was cruel and decisive, an incredible force of fury and violence but she had protected Them, and they had each other. Now they had each other again, and she had other plans. They had asked her for time, to just be together. They had asked her for a name, a way to be known by just the two of them. She dismissed both as pointless, as they were. They had never been enough. But...why not? The world was cruel and careless but so where they, why couldn’t they explore it together? Just for a little while?

“There’s something I want you to know sister... “ They said to no one in particular. Sister was gone, again. The humans had taken her, just like the Old Gods had, and now They were alone. But, Sister had only cared about herself. Alone before, alone after. Same number of friends. “This world, it’s not just the bad things, or the ones that wronged us.” The leaves were turning. Fall, the humans called it. They had such silly, boring names for everything, but They liked it. _F-all_ . The leaf by their hand- _by Eliot’s hand_ \- was perfect. Symmetrical and red, ideal for small hands to place in a pile and dive into. They picked the leaf up, still unsure why. “There’s….there’s such beauty in everything... Even the quiet… Especially the quiet.”

They were alone, but not for long. Humans thought themselves such quiet creatures, but even when they weren’t scrambling, their wants were so _loud_ . Quentin’s wants were the loudest- a constant stream of - _Eliot Eliot Eliot_ \- how weak.

_Why would he want Eliot? They were right here, and Quentin was just over the hill by the stream, taking too long with the laundry like he always did-_

They blinked. Quentin ran towards him, with- Percy? Why was Percy here, he hadn’t come to Fillory- they stood. The body was weak and distracting and Quentin, _Quentin_ and his friends had betrayed Them. This wasn’t Fillory and They weren’t the body Sister was gone and they would all pay, starting with _him_. Their hand was out, ready to snap his bones all over again, one by one- and Percy vanished.

Damn.

Then, there was a shout behind Them. They turned- They had met this woman before, tiny and fierce, her eyepatch making her more memorable than most humans. She had gone away, like everyone eventually did. Only, she came back. Not for Them, They reminded Themself. For the body. The body must have known her well, it’s chest clenched at her sight. Then- They gasped. Human bodies were weak, truly, but- but this was pain beyond pain. A choked sound escaped the body’s mouth- were they moving, or had the body done that on its own? There was an- there was an axe in the body’s stomach. How surprising. The little human had almost managed something amusing, a shame she had hurt Them to do it. She would have to die first. After Quentin, of course. Only, the body collapsed. They were growing weaker- no, not weaker. They were _fading_ , finally. The body was dying, and they were ready to be free.

They had been in a forest like this before. They had _died_ in a forest like this before. Only, this wasn’t dying, was it? This was returning. They were in the Before, free of flesh and limitations, as they had been eons ago. It was familiar and exhilarating all at once. In a few brief, human seconds, they would be drawn to some new host, and forced to begin all over again, but now, They were one with the universe, as They had always been intended. The woman continued screaming, but it hardly mattered anymore. These rare moments where they existed between flesh, the transitions, were where They really lived. The rest was just...waiting.

\--x--

_Time moved strangely around the body and its companions._

_Perhaps that was why They stayed. Human bodies were so tedious, forced to exist in the linear, never seeing nor caring that anything worth caring about always happened in the corners of time. Just like the Old Gods hadn’t cared that once They were forced into flesh, They wouldn’t see any more either._

_The first body They had been forced into, They had destroyed. It was all wrong. Too weak and needy, too narrow in its ability to see. The body They had held before this one never lived outside the path that was set for him, never even considered it. Neither had the countless others before. But Eliot, the body They currently held, had slipped in and out of the folds of Time, more times than it could ever imagine. Echoes lingered, and time was not so easily abandoned. Perhaps that made this body more tolerable._

_The body understood so much more than Time, however. The body had also understood screaming well. It tensed, a reaction small enough that They could suppress it with little trouble, but it didn’t have the visceral response to the agony of others that the previous body had. The new body had reacted less to the sounds of animals than of humans, though their screams weren’t so different in the end. The body also already knew exactly how to butcher them. Again, animals more so than humans, but their parts weren’t so different in the end._

_The body’s hands still shook whenever Their work was finished. Weak._

\--x--

These woods were so very different now. Sparcer, more burnt, filled with stripped birch and pine and other withering things, the underbrush dry and crackling. The sound was pleasing, like bubble wrap. These woods would have been a terrible place to hide, even if They couldn’t smell their prey. His fear and adrenaline left an acrid taste in his wake, too subtle for the body to notice but They could always tell.

Quentin was terrible at this game. It was disappointing, to say the least. Ora had promised he would stay with Them, They would play games together and he would teach Them card tricks. Only she had lied, and he had let Them be hurt, and now he ran too slowly and didn’t know he was even Quentin. He insisted on calling himself _Brian_ and he wouldn’t show them any magic tricks and he was so scared all the time. The lattice of spells over Brian-Quentin’s mind were clumsy, keeping Quentin hidden but only just. They could probably tear those spells apart, but Brian-Quentin would probably be dead after. Which was fine, except the fear-smell would go away too and all They would have was a boring corpse. Humans were all boring once they were corpses. At least before they were corpses they could play the beg-scream-plead game.

Brian-Quentin sometimes seemed like more of a corpse than a human sometimes. He liked to hide away in small places, just out of their sight but his smell so strong, and stay very quiet. They called it his playing-dead game. Brian-Quentin liked to play it while other people played the beg-scream-plead game. Only the beg-scream-plead game wasn’t _just_ a game. There was a point, there was something They needed to find, and no one had been any help finding it. It didn’t matter how many intestines They searched through or how many chest cavities They tore open, it never _helped_. It never helped and They never found what they needed so the snapping of bones and spray of blood was just a different kind of prize. Only after They got their prize, They still had a boring corpse and Their endless wants.

At the beginning, Brian-Quentin had played the beg-plead-scream game too. He had begged Them to stop hurting their new friends. He had begged Them to stop hurting him. Eventually, he stopped begging. It was perhaps the most boring development of all.

Now They were playing hide-and-seek, and Brian-Quentin was terrible at it. He was only a few yards away, tucked in a little ball and curled against one of the few wide trees left in the dying forest. They could have walked to him, but walking was boring and they had things to do. Brian-Quentin had promised they would get ice cream if they were good, and they _had_ been. They’d only killed one person today, and only after she’d cut in line, which was against the rules. They blinked, and rematerialized before Brian-Quentin. “Found you.”

Quentin-not-Quentin yelped a brief _‘oh god’_ , and jumped back against the tree. He was shaking, maybe he was laughing. Humans laughed when they were playing games, Ora had taught Them that much. “Y-yeah, you did. You- oh god please just let me go?” he asked. No, he _begged_. The smell was stronger now, and Brian-Quentin clutched his arm from where They had dislocated it earlier. Maybe They should break it again, see if Brian-Quentin would finally play the beg-scream-plead game again. Brian-Quentin was weak. He never fought, he only cowered, and he was becoming boring. They would make him play the right way, They would break him piece by piece, They-

He blinked up at Them. Not-Quite-Quentin trembled, eyes wide and dark and just slightly framed with old splattered blood. He looked so weak, so fragile, like They could snap him in half in the blink of an eye and-

And the body did something...strange. The inner cavity of the body pounded, its chest constricted, and surged with a sudden sense of _fear_ . They froze. What did They have to be afraid of? They were the child of the Old Gods, the Monster of Blackspire, nothing could stop Them, unless- They were afraid _for_ Brian-Quentin? It felt...wrong, but They looked at the weak human huddled on the ground, and the body did it again.

They didn’t like it. They would have to explore this further.

Brian Quentin recoiled as They stepped forward, and the body did the chest-flip-stomach-churn-wrong thing again. Brian-Quentin would have to tell Them how to make it stop later. Which meant Brian-Quentin would stay alive for now.

They cleared Their throat. “Get up, you promised we’d get ice cream. I want sprinkles.”

\--x--

_The body would react to the strangest things, sometimes. If they passed by the place Not-Quentin called ‘the park’ its ears would perk up at the sound of small-human laughter. It would breathe easier in the smell of rain and wretched at the scent of scotch but not gin._

_The body reacted most strangely to the taste of blood. Blood was good; it was familiar, always the same. Not like water. Water was terrible- it could taste like copper and calcium, or stone and river sediment, or the mess that humans called ‘purified’ but just tasted like void and faint minerals. Blood was just- blood. Yet whenever They tasted it, a common overflow from Their games, the body’s hand would twitch, and They could recall the sound of necks snapping, regardless of what game They were playing._

_It couldn’t be anything important. They were probably just imagining it._

\--x--

It made perfect sense that They enjoyed touching Quentin. Quentin was Theirs, moreso since he became Quentin-Quentin again. 

The body was always reaching out to touch things, sometimes before They realized. It liked to draw its fingertips along the textures of the soft, silky fabrics of the concrete and glass castle where Their new friends were boring and did so much reading. It liked to lie with its enormity draped across the cool marble, letting the chill seep into it in the space between taking too many of the human-with-glasses pills, and the human-with-glasses scurrying away at the sight of Them in their kitchen. And most of all, it also liked to touch Quentin. Win win.

So yes, the body liked touching Quentin, and They liked touching Quentin, and it all made sense because Quentin was theirs, Ora had said so. He was Their friend, even if he had let _stupid Eliot_ hurt Them. Perhaps he wasn’t a very good friend, but They could be forgiving, and They made sure he knew. So They would pet his hair when They walked by and take them along when They went looking for the missing pieces of Their Body and tried to stop hurting him, especially since he had become so much more helpful since remembering who he was.

Except he wasn’t being helpful now, and They were bored.

The humans were huddled away in the glass castle, sitting in a circle and going through book after book. Why did they always insist on reading? Books always took too long, and what the Gods had taken from Them weren’t going to be inside of the pages anyways. They had complained about this early on, and the human called Yoolia had explained that humans weren’t very good at knowing where these places were, and sometimes they were underwater, or in other places where humans wouldn’t survive. Stupid, fragile human bodies. Hence, books. Except Humans were apparently just as bad at research as they were at surviving, it seemed. The book she had held at the time was a Sanskrit text about binding, nothing about Enyalius in sight. Still, she had a point, but They didn’t like it. A point They would have gladly made clear by throwing her against the wall, and anyone who tried to stop Them with her, but the fragile-beating-God-thing inside her would keep her safe. She had tried to hide it from Them, but They knew. It didn’t matter anyways, the power within her was too weak to be Theirs. It was barely enough to keep her unbreakable. So They had left to seek entertainment elsewhere, if his friends were insistent on being boring.

They wanted Their stones back.

Now They had walked to Starbucks (actually _walked_ ), ordered a venti vanilla latte, with an extra pump of vanilla, four pumps of white chocolate mocha, and three cinnamon, and a sippy cup lid so they would get whipped cream with every sip, and stared at the barista as he asked for Their name. What a stupid, human concept, _names_ . They were ancient and powerful, a force of nature and the Gods, and all alone and had no Body because the Gods had stolen it, They only had a weak meat suit and now They had no _name_ . After a moment they spat at the barista “surprise me” and walked to the other end of the counter. There was no need for the pathetic human to even _ask_ for Their name, They were the only one here. The barista could have just made Their drink and passed it over the counter silently, and everything would have been the same. After another few moments of pouring and shaking and pumping the right flavors, the man called out “Patrick!” They frowned. Patrick was a terrible name.

He also gave Them the wrong lid. Of course he had to die.

Which brought Them back to their walk, with Their venti vanilla latte, with an extra pump of vanilla, four pumps of white chocolate mocha, three cinnamon, a hint of blood, and no lid. The flavor of metal was strange with the sugar, but They liked it. Even if the body’s hands still shook at the taste.

When They returned to the concrete and glass castle, the humans flinched. Especially Quentin. That was...nice. It made the body’s chest constrict in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. They liked Quentin, but They also liked knowing he was afraid, that They were the one affecting him. Even if he and his boring friends were still going through their boring books. They walked past the humans, leaving them to their pointless studying, but They stopped to pet Quentin’s hair as They passed, to let him know that it was alright that he was weak and human and stupid and not faster. 

The body liked to trail its fingers across soft surfaces, and Quentin’s hair was always soft. They paused, carding the body’s fingers through the strands, tugging gently, the body-

“We’re- um, we’re making progress” Quentin stammered. They blinked, then let go of his hair. Quentin was much smarter than Brian-Quentin had been. He never played the scream-beg-plead game. He played different games, like ‘the-calmly-asking game’, or the ‘maintaining-eye-contact game’, games that didn’t make him look so weak, even if he was. Quentin was smarter than Brian-Quentin, he could at least pretend to not be afraid. Not that it mattered. The smell was always there. They hummed in response, and kept walking. It was fine, Quentin and his boring friends could keep to their boring books. They would find entertainment elsewhere. Maybe the television, or that cliff in Greece where They had killed a psychic and learned They hated gyros. Too much dill.

“O-kay, is no one else going to talk about how that thing just acted way too much like-” Percy started to say. Fortunately, Quentin interrupted his tiresome speech.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Oh. Well that was boring. They shrugged, Greece it was.

\--x--

_They were missing something._

_They were missing something and it hurt and They wanted it back, They wanted They wanted They wanted-_

_The body understood emptiness. If They let it guide Them, a rare behavior but instincts were instincts, it led Them to the most delicious ways of making the aching chasm within Themself go quiet. Like tequila. The body really liked tequila. It liked to find the nicest bottle of tequila it could, and finish it in the park, and relax while They tore the blood vessels from under the skin of anyone who told them to stop and lay them in neat little rows on the sidewalk. Yes, tequila made the body quiet, relaxed, happy. All the things They weren’t once Quentin threatened to leave Them if They didn’t stop trying to kill his_ friend _._

_They were missing something. They were missing something and the humans were too slow to get it back- why had it ever been taken in the first place?_

\--x--

Bacchus was dead. Their human friends had finally been useful and Bacchus was dead and it wasn’t _enough_ and they still couldn’t _remember_. Perhaps the small-fierce human had a point. Perhaps a non-human body would help with Their search. But They stood by Their words. This body was good, thanks.

Sure, sometimes it was sluggish, but human bodies always were. They were designed to be disposable bags of meat and electricity, easily broken and more easily replaced. Their parents had made them as such. Which only made it more pointless when Quentin complained that They weren’t taking care of the body, but still insisted on pretending he cared about anything _but_ the body. 

_(“Could I” he had started, so fragile, but so much better. Brian-Quentin had disappeared and Quentin-Quentin was back, and Quentin-Quentin already understood so much more than he ever had as Brian, “ maybe have Eliot back?”. He looked up, with the pathetic notion humans called hope in his eyes. They had been mistaken, Quentin-Quentin was just as wrong as Brian had been.)_

Their new human friends would just have to learn. Eliot was gone, the body was Theirs, and They would do with it as They pleased. The body was Theirs and They were all the friend Quentin needed. And if Quentin were a good friend, if he understood that, he would stop nagging Them to sleep, to feed the meat sack, to take less of the happy pills that made the body feel less inhabitable. As far as human bodies went, it was the best one yet, but it was still a _body_ . It was still a disposable mess of meat and electricity, with barely enough strength to keep itself alive, let alone contain Their power. It was constantly crackling under the body’s skin, tearing the muscles and tendons in increments too small to notice until the body’s pain was bone deep and all consuming. Pain was a strange sensation. But the pills made the sensation go away and replaced it with rainbows and time that moved faster and Quentin was a terrible friend for trying to take them away. He was lucky They hadn’t killed and replaced him yet. And he kept making _new rules_ to their games. Just yesterday, he had told Them that tequila and Lucky Charms weren’t acceptable choices in the eating-breakfast game, no matter how good they made Them feel. Once They had regained everything the Gods had taken from Them, the first thing They would destroy was every pointless human rule.

But no, before They could do that they needed to _find_ what the Gods had stolen from Them. And to do that They needed Quentin’s help, and Quentin wouldn’t help unless he sustained the body. Fine. They could let Quentin pretend he had a say.

Quentin was still here, but he might as well be gone. He had been hiding in his room with Yoolia and playing the ‘leave-me-alone-I’m-sad game’ since the night before, and They were bored again. They went to the kitchen. If nothing else, they might find something entertaining in here. Humans found food extremely entertaining, for reasons They could almost understand. They shuffled around the drawers and cabinets for a bit; there were plenty of knives, definitely worth coming back to later, more alcohol that foolish Yoolia had hid, she was nearly as bad at hide-and-seek as Brian-Quentin, more wooden trays than Then had any idea what anyone would do with- boring. They stood, drumming Their fingers across the cold countertop, next to the bowl of fruit the human-with-glasses had put out the night before. Fruit was...supposed to be good for humans, and it was sweet. Because sometimes Their parents made not-terrible things to put into the universe and sometimes you got a win, They guessed.

They eyed the bowl before selecting the orangy dimpled fruit with the fuzzy skin. It was larger than the others, so it must be better. The human-with-glasses was peculiar about fruit. He had used these in what he called ‘condolence muffins’, picking up each individual sphere and smelling them before carving them open. It seemed unnecessary They thought, though they drew the fruit to Their face regardless, and inhaled. Definitely unnecessary, all it smelled like was-

All it smelled like was warm summer skies. The fruit smelled like dancing hand in hand with a lover, beneath a canopy of fireflies and pinky promises. They could taste the juices of Their last harvest, fresh on Their lips and transferred from the lips of another. It smelled like belief in the future and decades of joy, and the acid of words meant to hurt and words left unspoken under an overly pungent arch of flowers.

They threw out the entire bowl.

\--x--

_Sometimes They wondered if all Their friends were missing something. The thought never lasted long. Their friends were human, they wouldn’t live long enough for their sorrows to matter, but the thought occurred nonetheless._

_Yoolia had the beating-fragile-God-thing within her, but couldn’t touch it. The small-fierce one had left, and leaving meant looking for something. And Quentin always looked like he was just about to break. And seeing Quentin broken made the body feel nearly as empty as They were._

_It didn’t matter. Human lives were barely a blink and They would be complete again soon. They would be with Sister again and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine._

\--x--

Nights in the glass castle were strange. At first, they had been unpredictable, which was nice, but now they were just...off. 

The humans tried often to work late into the night, reading or running to card games or whatever they did when They weren’t here to watch them. But usually, inevitably, the weak pitiful humans would need to play the resting game. They weren’t even very good at it- usually just lying awake, their eyes closed as they pretended the sleep they so desperately needed would come soon. Sometimes it would, and sometimes they would speak in their sleep. Sometimes They would watch from the corners of their rooms. Never for long though, they seldom said anything worth listening to.

All of them but Quentin, that was. He slept less than any of the other humans, and on the rare nights when he did, he never spoke. He just tossed and turned, occasionally he whimpered. Even in sleep, he was fitful and afraid. The body was the most strange when Quentin was fitful. It had the strange cold pit in its chest They had learned was called distress, yet it _also_ found Quentin... entertaining. 

Sometimes, if They let the body guide Them, a rare behavior but instincts were instincts, it led Them to the most delicious ways of making the aching chasm within Themself go quiet. Sometimes, the body would move towards him of its own accord, consumed by a hunger and radiating with a flush They couldn’t name, and sometimes, They wouldn’t stop it. Tonight Quentin was still. But it wasn’t the stillness of the pretending-to-sleep-because-I-can’t-take-being-here-anymore game, the one he and Their other friends played so often- he had just passed out. He hadn’t even tried to climb under his covers. They didn’t understand the point of such things- the covers always seemed like such a cumbersome and needless idea, but they were soft, and the body liked touching soft things. So why have pointless soft things if not to indulge in them? Humans and their toys were strange.

They were getting bored. Quentin should be moving, he was more fun to watch when he moved. The body could recall Quentin recoiling the way he did in sleep, the way he did whenever They gripped his shoulder or pet his hair or walked in the room, the way he had when They broke Brian-Quentin’s arm- when they broke Brian-Quentin. The body knew what he felt like when he breathed heavily, and pushed back against-

They raised a hand to the body’s chest. The body knew what Quentin felt like when he panted the way Brian-Quentin had, but it was different then. Quentin wasn’t supposed to recoil _away_. The hunger was back, and maybe Quentin was supposed to help feed it.

The bed was large. Everything in the glass castle was large, though not as much as Blackspire. It wasn’t a better home- it wasn’t a home at all, but They weren’t built for such things as that. It was different though. At least, as different as anything built by humans could be. But the bed was comfortable and that was...something. They felt...something. Human bodies were such strange, inconvenient things, filled equally with wants and doubts and always stopping themselves from taking what they needed and now They had no idea what the body was supposed to do. It felt...cold. Colder than usual, its heart pounding hard but it’s hands heavy by Their sides. Quentin must have been cold too. Which really didn't matter, but Quentin was helping Them build Their body and if he died of cold, one of the most pathetic ways these fragile mortals could die, then he couldn’t help Them and that wasn’t good enough. They climbed in next to him.

Quentin was tucked on his side, curled around his core like he was afraid of his soft moral underbelly being torn open as he dreamt. It was a valid fear- They had once slain many a man that way, before growing bored by the lack of resistance. But nothing would happen to him as long as They were here, unless They did it. And if They hurt Quentin, he deserved it. Simple. The body tensed, They ignored it.

Something was still missing, some part of the equation They hadn’t put together yet. The hunger was still there, despite listening to the body’s instincts to move. They scooted forward, closing the gap of the last few inches between the body’s chest and Quentin’s back and- _oh_. So that was what the body wanted.

The flush had returned, stronger than before and leaving the body hot in places They hadn’t realized the body could _be_ hot. Gone was the distress, replaced with a chorus of _want-want-want_ . They didn’t know if it belonged to Them or the body, and at this moment They didn’t _care_ . Quentin stirred in his sleep, began to roll- no, he couldn’t do that, They couldn’t let him leave. They put a hand on his hip, gripping him in place. The body _liked_ being so close to Quentin; the smell of him, adrenaline and musk, the feel of his delicate bones under hands that could shatter him in a moment. Quentin- _his_ Quentin, whimpered. The body’s eyes fluttered shut. The sound was different, They realized, than the ones Quentin made when he was afraid. They wanted to hear more of them. Quentin pressed his hips back against the body, pushed his back further into their chest. They could feel every inch of his full body shudder, running down his spine and curling his toes against the body’s calves. Quentin exhaled, keening soft and high.

“ _Eliot,_ ” he practically whimpered, completely breathless. And They- froze. The body recoiled this time, limbs snapping into rigidity. No, that wasn’t the body this time, that was all Them. Quentin stilled as well. He stilled, then he shook. They could feel him blinking into awareness.

They disappeared before he could blink a second time.

\--x--

_Everything was not fine._

\--x--

The stone They had pulled from Bacchus’s heart confused Them. It clearly belonged to Them, but They didn’t know what it was, or why the God had been so desperate to hide it.

Perhaps it was the same reason They were so intent on hiding that the body was still alive. They could feel Eliot struggling under its skin, but he would never get out. It was better for Quentin to think him dead. Then he could play the being-sad-and-breaking-things game and go back to helping Them. Only, Quentin was taking too long to get to the breaking-things part of the game, and was only barely helping. Only, there was nothing Bacchus had to gain from hiding the stone, other than keeping it from Them. Perhaps this was a bad comparison. Perhaps why anything happened didn’t actually matter.

In between bouts of moping, Quentin had managed to suggest that the stone was Mesopotamian. It was the most helpful he had been in days. It led Them to a temple high in the mountains, built of worn sandstone and shattered columns, and They had only needed to kill two guides to find its location. The winds whipped about, the altitude allowing for speeds most humans could barely tolerate. Whether this was a place for pilgrimage or a place to be hidden was unclear, it has been abandoned so long. There were still some markings on the walls that looked...similar enough to the ones on the stone. But there wasn’t enough of this temple standing to make any sense of them. Time and outside interference had not been kind to this place. They could relate.

The temple was in ruins now, broken and precariously balanced against the side of the mountain that would one day consume it. Any words that may have held any value along the walls were long since rubbed away to the point of losing all meaning, and the wind, as innocuous as it was, rung with stories untold of the horrors that had happened here. The body was in much the same state.

To Their ears, the wind whistling through the torn corridors sounded like the echoes of rituals long since past. It sounded like being torn apart and locked in a cage, left with the others for centuries until They were the only one left. It sounded like being abandoned in the dark while the Gods took what was Theirs and used it. To the body, it sounded like wind chimes; like old glass strung together and hung from the window of a small room of a small cottage, a decorative charm meant to play random notes for a small boy on windy days. They hated the sound all the more for it. They hated the body. It was pitiful and needy, like all the others. It had friends, _Their friends_ , who didn’t want Them, who only wanted _Eliot_. Weak, pathetic Eliot who had tried to hurt Them, who had all the things They wanted, that They didn’t want to need. 

It didn’t matter. Eliot was dead as far as they would ever know. Eliot was dead and useless and the temple was dead and useless. They waved Their hand as they left, tearing the temple from its crumbling foundations. It was for the best, it wasn’t doing anyone any good anymore. They could relate.

\--x--

_They should have known better than to expect anything to change. The universe seemed random, but it moved in cycles, and those cycles existed for a reason. They remembered so little, but They could remember that at least. Echoes lingered, and patterns were not so easily abandoned._

_The worst pattern of all was that in the end, They always ended up alone._

_Ora had left Them. Well, in all fairness They had killed her. Not on purpose, but, she had been with Them for so long, longer than humans were ever supposed to last. After They had left her body to take this one, she hadn’t stayed standing more than a minute. They almost mourned her. Sister had never truly wanted Them, just Their strength. She couldn’t even give Them a name, after all They had done for her. Even Their own parents had locked them away to die, along with the rest of Their kind. And sure, They may have eaten the others, but it was nothing that wouldn’t have been done to Them if They hadn’t acted first. Their parents had wanted Them to die._

_They hated the body. They hated the body and they were happy to leave it, but They would be alone again. Quentin wasn’t Their friend, none of them were- they only stayed for the body. Would it be worth tracking them down again? Would it be worth starting over? Human lives were so short, barely an instant, why seek them at all for what would only be a blink of entertainment?_

_Sometimes they wondered how much of Their want was Theirs, and how much belonged to the body. Sometimes They wondered why They wondered. Sometimes They wondered if any of it would ever matter._

_It was fine. They would come back, They would find new games. They would find something, anything, worth wanting._

_They would find something._

\--x--

They had been in a city like this before.

The structures had been wood and stone instead of glass and steel, the spires smaller and the streets filled with horses and carts and not these awful-loud-metal contraptions, and this city was so much larger, but still. It was basically the same. 

Finding the new body had been too easy. Someone had taken him and traced over his mind, made him lose who he was. That was...disappointing. It would have been so much more fun if he knew why They wanted _this_ body, why They needed revenge for hurting Them. It could be worse though. They liked this body- it was tall, and imposing, and when They walked people either stared in awe or scurried out of Their way like ants. As they should. Ora’s body had been acceptable. It was strange being her after so long being her friend, but she was still with him. Only They left her body, and her heart stopped beating. They had sunk her in the river- that was how humans buried their friends, right?

It hardly mattered though, They were on their way to find Quentin. He would be their new friend, and everything would stay exactly the same. They had one friend before, They would have one friend now. His mind had been traced over as well- someone had stolen his name too, had called him ‘Brian’. They were the same now. Surely he would be happy, if They gave him his real name back. Surely he would be happy to see Them, they were friends- he had promised.

They couldn’t see Quentin yet, but they could feel him. He wasn’t far, They could tell; just a little further, around the corner and behind the bricks and windows and- They grinned.

“Quentin! I found you!”

He grinned back- this was good, humans smiled when they liked things, Ora had taught Them that. He stepped back, and laughed a little. “Oh, uh- no sorry, I’m- I’m Brian.”

Oh. The be-friends-with-Quentin-game was going to be harder to win than that. That was fine, human games usually ended too soon. Maybe They needed to be more direct. “Do a card trick for me Quentin.”

Quentin laughed again, looked to the side- he wasn’t _getting_ it, was he? Games were only fun if both people played, and he had promised. “Come on,” They whined. “Will you play with me?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, I think you’ve got me- mistake for somebody else but I- you know-” He was speaking faster, in the way humans did when they were nervous. Then he was walking away, like he thought that was the end of it. But oh, they were only just getting started.

Time moved strangely around the body, and time moved strangely around Quentin-who-wasn’t-Quentin. It was impossible not to notice it, even as the body did something as mundane as follow him down the concrete pathway. They contained multitudes, and They couldn’t wait to pick them apart. It was just a matter of Quentin realizing that they were coming along, and that They were going to have so many adventures.

This was going to be so much fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: This story is intended to be both a character study on the Monster, and Their relationship with Eliot's body through the lens of sensation and muscle memory. As such, the Monster has impulses and reactions that it acts on without truly understanding them. There is a scene where Quentin is sleeping, and the Monster climbs into bed behind him. There is some touching, though everything is above the belt, and Quentin starts to wake up. In his half-asleep daze he calls the Monster Eliot, and the Monster freezes before vanishing.
> 
> This scene is fairly short, and takes place towards the end of the story. It starts around-
> 
> "All of them but Quentin, that was. He slept less than any of the other humans, and on the rare nights when he did, he never spoke. "
> 
> and ends at 
> 
> "They disappeared before he could blink a second time"


End file.
